


L is for...

by laconicisms



Series: Candle Verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: schmoop_bingo, Humor, M/M, Schmoop, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-13
Updated: 2010-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laconicisms/pseuds/laconicisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel continues to be helpful, Dean has trouble verbalising things, and Castiel sides with his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L is for...

  
“Lord’s lackey!”

“What?”

“Lord’s. Lackey.”

“Uh, Dean?”

“Lord’s la... _Loki!”  
_  
“You rang?”

###

“Listen, loser! Let-let...”

“Let what?”

“L-l-_leper!”_

“Now, now, Dean-o. There’s no need for insults.”

“Just reverse it, Gabriel,” Sam sighed, feeling, and probably looking, for all the world like a single mother of two. Even though he was the youngest of their dysfunctional little family unit, most days it didn’t seem like it.

Gabriel threw him a look that said ‘like hell’ and promptly disappeared. Probably hadn’t gone far, though; he liked watching his tricks unfold.

“Little ...limp larry!”

Then again little kids could be so _cute_.

“It’s really not limp, Dean,” Sam said, trying for earnest and innocent, and failing spectacularly.

“Less laughter, loon!” Glaring, Dean stomped towards his bed and threw himself down on it.  Despite Sam’s best efforts to coax some kind of explanation out of him, he didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening.

###

The next morning, Dean was still incapable of starting a word with any other letter but ‘L’, which put a bit of a damper on his breakfast ordering skills. His general irritation flared even higher when the waitress, looking just a bit stumped, informed them that there wasn’t a single menu in the whole diner, before rattling off a list and asking what they wanted from it.

Yeah, the guilty party wasn’t obvious at all.

Sam finally took pity on his brother and ordered for both of them; he didn’t receive any kind of thanks, of course. Not that he could think of a word that expressed gratitude and that Dean could actually say, but the bitchy face Dean turned on him was as far from ‘thanks’ as it could possibly get. Still, Sam could be nice. Things were so much better when everyone got along, after all, and yeah, he could see the irony of him fulfilling the role of family mediator.

“Look, Dean, if we just figure out what kind of lesson he wants you to learn,” Sam began, ignoring Dean’s shut-up gestures, “he’ll reverse it, yeah? So maybe you could, I dunno, _help _with that?”

“Lips locked, Lassie.”

Sam paused, trying to parse that. “Jerk.” He took a sip from his coffee, wondering what he ever did to deserve being stuck with the two most stubborn people in the world. Aside from starting the Apocalypse that was ‘cause he’d stopped it, too, and that had to count for something, right?

“Hello, Dean. Sam.”

The thing was, if it happened to you often enough, you didn’t even really notice when an angel suddenly sat across from you. “I have eradicated a nest of four demons in southern Minnesota,” Castiel continued, delivering his mission report in a perfect monotone.

“Great," Sam said. “Gabriel did something to Dean. I’m trying to figure out how to fix it.” Because Dean clearly wasn’t going to help, and what. The. Fuck. Why ever not?

“Dean knows how.” Okay, sudden angelic appearances he was used to; sudden angelic appearances_ on his lap_, not so much. Somehow, Sam had a feeling it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. Gabriel grinned at him, then looked at the table and snorted. “Sammy, Sammy. Always with the health food. Here, have a pancake.”

“I didn’t want a pancake,” Sam said, staring at what used to be his muesli pre-finger-snap.

“Lowlife louse!” Oh, awesome. Now he felt like talking, when Sam was having a conversation about messing with his food and how it _wasn’t done_. “Let lacking letters leave lips!”

“How long did it take you to come up with that?”

“Gabriel.” If Sam was the mother, Castiel got to play the role of the stern father. And God, he’d never, ever let Dean know about that train of thought.

“He knows what to do. Say ‘ah,’ Sammy.”

Sam didn’t. Not least because Gabriel was mimicking the sound of an airplane while waving the fork with its bite-sized piece of pancake about. Gabriel tutted at him.

“Dean.” Sam knew that tone of voice; it was the classic ‘be the more mature person here’ tone of annoyed parents everywhere , and Castiel had it down pat.

Sam was impressed.

“All that’s keeping you from it is your pride, you know,” Gabriel piped up. The fork was hovering in front of Sam’s mouth. On the other side of the table, Dean growled and threw his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. He took a deep breath and turned towards Castiel, who was doing 'earnest and innocent' far better than Sam ever could.

“Love. Love you. I love you, alright!” It was the least affectionate declaration of love Sam had ever heard, but it was coming from Dean and that was enough to make his jaw drop.

Castiel only smiled.

“Now, are you satisfied you motherfucking son of a bitch?” Dean hissed at the archangel sitting on Sam’s lap.

“Yep,” Gabriel said, pushing the fork into Sam’s open mouth. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

**Author's Note:**

> written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/schmoop_bingo/profile)[**schmoop_bingo**](http://community.livejournal.com/schmoop_bingo/)  prompt _playing matchmaker_


End file.
